


The Big Themes

by gigantic



Category: Bandom, Gym Class Heroes
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-05
Updated: 2008-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3777145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some reflection during time spent indoors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Big Themes

**Author's Note:**

> This little ditty is for teaspoon, who originally prompted me ages ago. Slow and steady wins the race! Or something.

"I'm gonna take out the trash," Matt says and heads toward the door as if he isn't only wearing a t-shirt and baggy basketball shorts. It is winter, and Travis could've sworn Matt got the memo, but maybe someone forgot to CC him on that one.

"Yo, you know it's cold outside, right?" Travis asks. He drops his feet on the couch in the space Matt abandons. Underneath his heels, the cushion is still warm.

"Oh, yeah," Matt says, voice slow and lazy. There's a scarf on the coat rack hanging on the wall near the door leading out back, and Matt wraps it around his neck. He has on socks and no shoes, and there's a hole just below the collar of his t-shirt. Travis shakes his head, laughing lightly.

He says, "Man, please don't catch pneumonia."

"My coat and stuff are all the way in the bedroom," Matt says. It's his version of a whine, not bothering to go so far as changing the inflection in his voice, but the sentiment is clear. Instead he resorts to stating the obvious to let know Travis know that it's exactly what he doesn't feel like doing.

Because, honestly, Matt's place is still sort of small. It's kind of a crackerbox, but he looks forlornly at the short hallway like walking the distance to his closet and back through to grab the trash would just be way too much.

"Here," Travis says, and he gets up as he pulls his hoodie over his head.

He hands the sweatshirt off to Matt, arms catching a chill as the coolness of the room touches his bare skin where his t-shirt sleeves end. The air ghosts across his lower back where the shirt pulls up too, and he has to pull the fabric back down to cover the top of his pants as Matt tugs on his sweatshirt. The scarf around Matt's neck bunches and causes a weird, conspicuous lump at the neck. Travis reaches out to pull the scarf up and on the outside of the hoodie with some effort, his fingers brushing the collar of Matt's own t-shirt and skimming his neck as Travis fiddles.

"I want that back when you get in here again," he says.

"Yeah, yeah," Matt says, and he pulls the large garbage bag from the trashcan, ties it off, and heads outside. A gust of freezing air sweeps into the kitchen when he opens the door, Travis dropping back a step reflexively in a weak attempt at avoiding it.

While Matt's out, Travis goes to the refrigerator to grab another can of soda. He downs half in the couple minutes that Matt is gone, and then he sets the can on the counter when Matt returns. The same rush of too-cold air pushes through the room, although this time Travis really is out of dodge for the most part. Matt chatters his teeth audibly, rubbing his hands together.

"I feel like," Matt says, already undoing the scarf around his neck, "it's too cold for it to even snow. We should look at the temperature."

"I hate when it gets that low," Travis says. He downs more of his soda and dumps the last few drops in the sink. Matt keeps fresh garbage bags under the sink, so Travis fishes out a new one, lines the trash bin and disposes of his soda can. 

In his opinion, shitty weather just means even more excuse to stay inside and watch cartoons. Once he's disposed of his soda can, he drapes his arms over Matt's shoulders from behind and lets Matt walk them both into the living room, returning to the couch. On television, the commercials have already moved back into the shows they were watching -- Boomerang reruns of _The Tex Avery Show_ and _2 Stupid Dogs_. As Matt flops down onto the seat cushions again, Travis lets himself follow, leaving one hand around Matt's shoulders and absently tucking his fingers into the open neck of the hoodie, pulling up the scarf.

He doesn't have any real motives, which is sort of the point -- winging it. Matt has this fucking ability: he can withstand a prolonged amount of touch, Travis has found, and that only encourages Travis to take advantage of it. He has restless fingers by nature, curious and roaming, and he slides the scarf away from Matt's neck when he gets it loose enough that it starts to hang limply outside of the sweatshirt Matt wears -- Travis's sweatshirt.

"Hey," is the extent of Matt's protest. "What if I'm cold? I was using that."

"What if _I'm_ cold?" Travis asks, ducking his head toward Matt. He's slumped down enough that he can get to Matt's shoulder, to the crook of his neck. Travis's arm around him feels more awkward like this, but it works, and Travis turns his face into the softness of his own shirt on someone else. "You took my clothes."

"You gave it to me," Matt says, tilting his head up. He's not trying to get away, exactly, but elongating his neck a bit. Travis's nose grazes the skin, and when he picks his head up, he blinks at Matt, regarding him seriously.

He moves both hands down toward the bottom of the hoodie, pulling the hem up. He says, "Alright, give it back. Come on," and Matt groans but then twists to the side and helps lift.

Travis doesn't really want the sweatshirt. He's more interested in body heat, taking enough time to get the hoodie over Matt's head but failing to clear his arm entirely. The fabric folds around Matt's forearms, t-shirt bunching around his back the way Travis's had, and Travis leans in to nudge his face against Matt's neck and noting, apropos of nothing, that Matt still smells like himself. Maybe they should have let Matt wear his sweatshirt a little longer, Travis thinks, and then chuckles.

"Dude, what is this?" Matt asked, looking at the television. "Baby Looney Tunes? Hold on, I want to change."

"Television is a joke all the time now," Travis says. He gives Matt the space to lean forward and grab the remote from the floor. After he switches the channel, Matt settles back into the cushions just as close as he had been, pushing the sweatshirt off his arms and into his lap.

He says, laughing, "I was watching Oprah the other night, and she didn't even give anything away."

"Not even a basket of body wash?" Travis asks. 

Matt says, "Nope. That's my point. What good is TV if I can't even count on Oprah to give somebody a car?"

"Turn it off," Travis suggests, curling his hand against Matt's skin where his shirt's still rucked up. Either his hands have gotten cold or Matt's just freakishly warm. From the way Matt twitches, Travis figures it must be him. He dips his fingertips down to push at the elastic waistband of Matt's short, feeling the boundary and then breaching the territory. Gotta warm up, he thinks. Matt shifts and settles again, Travis's fingers pulling at the fabric.

Matt hums, thoughtful and noncommittal. He leaves the television on but angles into Travis more, who brings his other hand to Matt's stomach and bumps his knuckles back and forth with a certain promise. It's intended. 

Not only has Travis learned that Matt is extremely tolerant of how tactile he can be, but Travis has also gotten acquainted with the way simple touches coax Matt into -- well. Travis really likes this part, is the point. So many years into what they have, Travis doesn't remember if it was something Matt became accustomed to or if he'd always been this way, responsive to Travis's subtle persuasion. 

This is what Travis starts to want back while he's in LA, Miami, or Chicago. Vacations and other people's guest rooms are good, but there's something about getting held inside thanks to the chill in New York. He could feel more embarrassed about it -- the way he eventually always ends up telling people that he misses his city and his home and his bed, not clarifying for others that the second and the latter are generally in two very different locations. In LA, Pete likes to watch shit like He-Man and Johnny Quest if they can find it on cable, both of them sitting nearly this close under the pizza blanket. Travis appreciates it, but after too long it starts to make him a little anxious to touch down on the east coast. He doesn't want to get away from Los Angeles; he's trying to get closer to something else, and he and Matt tend to find one another even before the first day back ends.

They haven't spent particularly long periods of time apart since they met. They sort of started a band to prevent it, but Travis considers it the same way he considered the first day of school until graduation: you could hang out with the same group of friends all summer, but the first day back in September was still worth getting dressed up in the best threads you'd bought during those three months off.

Not that Matty really ever gave a shit if Travis dressed up for him. The feeling was mutual. They'd been all about the Come As You Are since day one.

In fact, at the moment even single layers of loungewear are causing Travis a problem. He pulls on the waist of Matt's shorts again, pushing his hand down until he's grazing thigh, the curve of Matt's skin where the legs take over. His hip bone's sharp, skin hot under Travis's palm, and as he exhales, jolting again at the chill of fingers, Travis bumps his chin lower and kisses him. 

The first time they'd ever kissed, Matt was scrawny, pawing at Travis's side and making Travis laugh, because Travis still had some of the weight then and Matt kept absently pinching his side pudge. Afterwards, Matt had smacked his lips together and then complained about Travis's beard.

"Don't hate 'cause you can't grow a full one yet," Travis had said, and Matt snorted. He'd dropped his hands to his sides again, mirroring Travis. It was the most awkward four seconds of their whole friendship up until that point, and then Travis finally asked Matt if he wanted to come to one of his dad and uncle's shows, putting things back on track.

It had taken a couple more hours before Travis started wondering if their plans technically constituted a date. Matt had seen his dad's shows before, but it felt different. Travis had then realized he wanted it to be a date and missed his bus stop on the way home thinking about it. These days Matt laughs at him whenever he retells the story of that afternoon, which Travis thinks is completely appropriate, but at the same time, he _had_ really been preoccupied with a serious identity issue that day. By the time he switched buses and headed back in the right direction, though, Travis had moved on to wondering if should pick up fast food for dinner or just hope that his mom had cooked something.

Now Matt hums in short, soft notes and licks his lips between kisses. His hands are knotted in the mound of hoodie in his lap, and as Travis brings his knees up on the cushion and turns his body inward, Matt mutters, "Remember my couch is too small to, uh --"

"I'm aware."

Travis hasn't actually forgotten the few times they've tried to do more than make out a little bit, usually too drunk to think better of the idea beforehand. They're just long dudes. Tall guys don't ever really get the opportunity to appreciate love seats as a positive thing.

"Can we get rid of this? Can I buy you a real person's couch?" Travis asks, leaning into the top of the back cushions with his knuckles.

"You've got a tiny couch in your apartment, too," Matt says.

Travis smiles. "But I have a big bed."

"I'm not exactly sleeping in a twin, dude." Matt raises his leg as he speak, bumping his knee into Travis's thigh thanks to the angle. He's got a point.

"I know," Travis says, and he stands, guiding Matt up as well with a hand braced on his shoulder. "C'mon."

He leads from behind, curving his arm around Matt's middle and saying into the skin at the nape of his neck, "Why are still kind of cold?"

"I was just outside," Matt says, ducking his head forward. He's pretty sensitive there. Travis gives him a smile that he can't see. Like four months ago, there was an afternoon in a hotel where Travis's phrase of the day had been "erogenous zones," and he had paid very close attention to Matt during the Apply Your Knowledge portion of the day, because Travis was a hands-on kind of student.

He slides his palms beneath Matt's shirt and rubs his hands over Matt's belly and swears it's purely and totally for helpful purposes. For the moment. He says, "I forgot that white people don't absorb heat. Light colors and stuff. I learned that shit in elementary."

"Don't blame trying to get second base in the hallway on science," Matt says, but he sounds amused in that sleepy way that never quite relaxes Travis as much when other people do it. Sometimes other people just sound tired. For Matt, it usually means he's comfortable.

In the bedroom, Travis abandons Matt's shirt in favor of his bottoms. He manages to push down the shorts just barely, but Matt disentangles himself, walking forward. Reaching the bed, he turns around and flops down on it with the waist of his shorts pulling low, a crooked separation between bottoms and t-shirt. Matt clenches and unclenches his hands on his t-shirt as if debating whether or not to get rid of it sooner or later. He eventually pulls it over his head, and in the interim, Travis undoes his own belt and unzips his fly.

The first time they ever had sex, Travis had said, "This is about to be fucking weird."

Matt had shrugged, the sort of what-can-you-do gesture that made Travis simultaneously nod in agreement and roll his eyes. Yeah, the strangeness was inevitable, but Travis had been able to tell that Matt was just as nervous as himself despite the nonchalance. They could have derailed the whole situation and claimed they weren't really into the idea -- no harm, no foul -- except then they'd have both been suspiciously hard for dudes not into it. Besides, if Matt hadn't even dignified Travis's moment of hesitation with a real response, then Travis wasn't about to be the one to emergency evacuate.

The way it turned out, anyway, Matt was kind of a freak. He hated when Travis actually used that word to describe it, because he said it made him think of every corny R&B song recorded during the '90s, but when it became clear that Matt was the type who didn't consider a blowjob a real blowjob unless he got a couple fingers in him as well, then what _else_ was Travis to suppose to think? Travis had hated giving head until they figured out what Matt really liked, because after that Matt was so appreciative during that Travis felt like the baddest motherfucker in Upstate New York. He didn't have a whole lot to compare it to, really, but even nowadays Travis is fairly confident that when it's hitting him right, no one sounds more grateful to have someone graciously decide to put their mouth on his cock than Matt.

It was funny. At least, it had been funny to Pete the one time Travis told him about it, because Pete had gone off on a whole tangent about how hard sucking dick was and not understanding how girls stood it at all. Pete's opinions were based on his own one or two unfortunate experiences with trying to give to a couple assholes in college, and Travis had wanted to offer some counter-perspective. Pete had laughed and asked if Travis was for real trying to tell him he just needed to meet the right person and respect his worth, which hadn't been Travis's aim, but it was hard to try to generalize the way he felt about one specific person.

In Matt's bedroom, he and Travis bring each other off with their hands first, pieces of clothing still limiting them. Once they're naked, they change speeds. Matt blows Travis until he's hard again, and then Travis takes his time stretching Matt with his fingers. He kisses the skin just below the chest piece, and Matt hums part of a cartoon theme from their morning of couch syndication like any regular, random earworm until Travis pushes deep and Matt can only breathe out swiftly. Travis watches him.

"Oh, are we in sweet and tender mode?" Matt asks after a moment, shifting down. "Prince Charming, I'm ready whenever you are."

"Man, I can't stand you," Travis says, thrusting. He squeezes Matt's arm, pinching him.

Matt smiles faintly, mouth closed, and then his expression freezes as he exhales carefully. Travis quickens his next thrusts for effect. When he can, Matt says, "Actually, I was one of those Disney princes for Halloween once. This girl -- the neighbor. She wanted to be Cinderella or something, so."

Travis laughs. "I'm gonna need to see that."

"Nah, it's okay," Matt says.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll just steal pictures from your mom's place -- mm, now shut up," Travis says, and then he drops down to mouth Matt into a kiss, because this actually isn't an awesome time to veer off into talking about anybody's parents. Travis pushes in more roughly, too. Fuck Prince Charming, Travis thinks. That guy never actually got any. Matt opens his mouth for the languid way their mouths collide, and Travis tilts his head for a better angle.

Strangely, Travis only ever compares Matt to Matt. The two of them haven't been a consistent item; there have been others during their lax periods, and Travis has compared those relationships to one another, but Matt isn't in that ballpark. He doesn't think it was ever a conscious distinction either, but he realizes sometimes that he can only compare what they do to previous versions of themselves, because Matt is never just his best friend since 16 or only someone with whom Travis is one and off again. In Travis's mind they only work as their own category. He has yet to ask Matt about how he considers them, but the dude keeps falling into this the same way Travis does, so Travis is pretty content with just knowing that much on the subject for now.

Travis comes before Matt does. He stays inside him as they pull Matt over together, hands bumping, and afterward they lie side-by-side, breathing. In the living room, Travis can hear that they've still left everything powered on.

Matt says, "I'm hot now. Thanks. Thanks for that. I need the cold again."

Travis laughs and slaps the back of his right hand on Matt's belly. He says, "Stop fucking whining. How about thank you for the sex? What you _need_ are some manners."

"You're right, you're right. My bad. I'm just saying," Matt says, but he edges closer to Travis instead of away, and that's exactly how Travis prefers it. Comfortable.


End file.
